


Learning To Smile

by JHR_Angel



Category: Inspired/Original Work
Genre: A lot of backstory, Crime, F/F, F/M, Inspired Work, mafia, not fan-fiction, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-02
Updated: 2018-03-05
Packaged: 2019-02-09 14:11:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12889587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JHR_Angel/pseuds/JHR_Angel
Summary: One day, there was a man named Marko. Marko had a plan. One to protect a rose, in dire need of help. One to make his Thorn of protection bigger and better and last longer. One to preserve his beautiful rose for as long as he could. So one day, Marko had a plan. Marko needed to burn down a forest so that nothing could ever touch his rose. Because whatever wants the rose...They have to get through the Thorn first.





	1. The Man Of a Million Secrets

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Thorns And Ravens](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12412389) by [JHR_Angel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JHR_Angel/pseuds/JHR_Angel), [Pretty_Odd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pretty_Odd/pseuds/Pretty_Odd). 



> Inspired work, I strongly recommend to check out Pretty_Odd’s original story linked above. :-). In no way are these two works canon towards each other, so if my fiction Is terrible I insist you do not harass Pretty_Odd about the matter. Please just leave a comment stating you’re opinion. That all said and done, I hope you enjoy.

Lightning streaked across the windows, a thick layer of velvet curtains shielding the man inside from its harsh light. Another flash and the man is seated at a desk, large and decorative, with a mass of papers on top of it. He sighs quietly while looking at this mess before him, beginning to sort the papers into a neat stack, with each shuffle a reverberation back in the ominously large room lit only by the crack of thunder and lightning that now shakes the windows. His black and red suit fits with the room perfectly; paintings of knives and assorted weapons lavishly strewn across the walls, a crimson carpet on a dark oak floor, an untouched glass of whiskey, and the sense of dread that hangs overhead. He works quickly and efficiently, almost finished the stack as he pauses to gander around the room, his eyes darting quickly around as if its wasting his time. A large double-door lay in front of him, a golden trim much like that on the desk. several wall mounted lights are turned off, but still obviously there and he notices for the first time there are many different cities painted onto the roof; Venice, Dubai, Paris, Hong Kong, Tokyo, and directly above him is New York, beautifully illustrated, as if the roof were a keyhole into the city itself. He doesn’t question these aspects, almost as if he’s seen them a thousand times before, instead moving back onto the last few papers. Finished with the stack, except for one lonely piece, putting it aside, he scrunches up the remaining papers individually and tosses them aside, a small barrel waiting underneath the desk conveniently large enough for... whatever he seems to be doing. There’s a gleam in his eyes, some satisfaction to what he’s doing, only covered by his dark fedora which he doesn’t seem to take off, regardless of the fact he is inside. He finishes ruining the sorted mess, and places a lid on the barrel with a certain careful that was not present moments before. As this odd man stands up, adjusting his crimson red tie and dusting off his complementing black suit, he calls out for two names: 

“Drevous! Arivi!” He has a gruff, hollow voice, surprisingly quiet and calm. One full of authority, yet pity, if that makes any sense. Two men enter the room, one of them quite tall and African American, a pinstriped black and white suit with a buzz cut of his coffee hair, matched with his constant scowl and deadly gaze, he seems to be in a sour mood. the other is a short British man with long blonde hair, no suit like the other two instead just regular jeans and a singlet, appearing unacceptably dressed. Both of the two men that entered are at least twice the odd mans size although appear rather afraid of him regardless. The two that entered, Drevous and Arivi, walk towards him as if they are both clogged inside a vent: at a crawling pace. The taller man speaks up first, a slight quiver in his voice that doesn’t match his looks. 

“Where I-is it?” He asks, almost regretting the question. The odd man points underneath the desk, and he steps aside for the other two to grab it. He gazes through the shorter man, his stare colder than his cast-iron heart, and continues to speak with the taller one. 

“Drevous, ain’t nobody taught you some manners?” He has a thick Accent, some form of American although difficult to say where from. Drevous flinches, assuming a harsh blow was awaiting him, almost dropping the barrel. 

“Of course Mr. B.” The man, Mr. B, glares towards Drevous as if he were leaving a murky flavour in his mouth.

“Use. Them.” He says, jaw clenched, Mr.B turns around to face Drevous “Or maybe you’ll end up in that barrel.” Drevous towers over both men, but chooses his next words carefully, as if his life may depend on it. Which it very well might have. 

“Uhh sorry Marko it’s just a bit late, and Yknow how I get when you have me working jobs this far into the night. I’m sorry boss, won’ happen again.” Marko wanders towards the window, sliding his thumb across the curtain as he pulls it aside to reveal the thunder crashing and rain streaming down in the dead of night. A full moon rises above casting Marko’s shadow. Somehow it has an equally cold stare.

“Yes, I guess it is late. Well after this there ain’t gonna be no more late night jobs for you. Sound good?” Drevous breathes a heavy sigh of relief as he hauls the barrel onto his shoulder.

“Sounds great boss. I appreciate it.” Marko continues staring at the shorter man in the room.

“Good work Drev, ya used your manners.-“ his gaze hardens once more, snapping his attention towards Drevous. “Now stop your bitchin’ and get that thing outta here.” Marko chuckles as he asks his next question, a chilling glint in his eyes. “Arivi, ya know why I brought you here, correct?” Arivi nods solemnly. 

“To... to make sure I don’t make any more mistakes?” Arivi frowns as Marko smiles, his sinister grin spreading from ear to ear.

“That’s right Arivi, that’s right. Now, time to teach ya something. Come over here for a second...” Arivi panics, and stumbles over his words, a mess of jargon and excuses 

“Wait! Marko please, I can do it, I swear. I Will! I.. I.. can get anything! I get the heat off your back, ‘member? Just..another... chance...” Arivi stops, hanging his head and begins to walk towards Marko, who raises an eyebrow. He takes a small but sharp object out of his pocket, similar to a sickle although smaller in size with the blade noticeabley larger than the handle. And definitely not used for cutting grass or wheat. He twirls it around his fingertips with ease, despite its weight of solid silver.

“I’m sorry Arivi. You know the rules. Ain’t no one gonna fail me twice. For the record I really liked ya, but I gotta... got... gottahehahehehehehhahahahHAHAHEHAHA!” Marko continues to chuckle maniacally, Drevous adding in with the lighthearted laugh occasionally. Arivi stops and smiles, lightly chuckling as well. Marko wipes his eyes although no tears were there, and recovers from his lunatic fit of laughter. “Oh ho hoo... I couldn’t keep a straight face. You were HORRIFIED and it was fantastic. Aha, ahaha.. you gotta keep ‘em smiling till the end huh? Hehehe...You clueless imbecile.” Marko flings the object in his hand towards Arivi, flicking his wrist and forefinger as he does so, He knows exactly where to hit with the instinct of a true killer. His precision drives it straight through Arivis heart, A wet thunk and a crash of the body hitting the hard wood confirms the death of Arivi, blood spilling from his mouth and the horrific wound in his chest. Marko paces over and taps the body lightly with his foot, as Drevous speaks up, his previous nervousness washed away as if it were all an act. 

“Fucking pigs. But that was a bit brutal, even for you. I mean a gun would work the exact same, like even the mess would be roughly similar. I mean yeah it looked cool, but geez... harsh.” Marko ignores him, grinning, and reaches into the mans chest cavity, pulling out his object and putting it back in his pocket.

“Drevous, grab his gun, baton and badge. The rest goes.” Marko gets professional again, adjusting his fedora and going back to his unnerving dead-inside facial expressions, a slight nod towards Drevous receives a nod back. He strides towards Arivi’s newly life-devoid corpse, as Marko stands by the window, drinking that lone glass of whiskey as the body is carried along with the barrel. Marko had never really looked out this window before, a magnificent view of an extravagant garden. A front lawn, he soon realises. The most likely reason is because it wasn’t his window. That wasn’t his desk and that wasn’t his work. He stares out onto the lawn of this mansion of a house as a massive fire is set ablaze. He can hear the sirens already, and see the dancing red and blue lights on the gargantuan space in front of him. He drinks his whiskey knowing his job is done here, walking out of the room as the remnants of a body is burned, fuelled by a wooden barrel full of paper. Before he goes, he leaves a nice note on the desk he used.

_Next time, perhaps._  
_Kind regards, The one and only_  
_Marko Black._


	2. A Good Business Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am horrendous when it comes to writing sex scenes... Yeah, it’s pretty bad. But necessary for the plot so.... here ya go. Had a friend give me some pointers, and I’m still degraduent at this. This’ll probably be, by far, the worst chapter I’ll post.

A young businessman, tall and slender around 25, walks down the desolate streets of New York City. Briefcase in hand and a constant stern look on his face makes him seem menacing, as if he could punch anyone who was to walk next to him. Fortunately for the entirety of the human population, no one else is around. The street lamps illuminate his path completely, a clouded sky offering the moon no opportunities to shine. He continues his straightaway walk to a monumental office building a few blocks down, taking no time to examine his surroundings; a large park to his right, lush and well kept. To his left simply lay apartment buildings and cramped alleyways. He briefly lifts the sleeve of his black and red suit to check his watch. _11:30_

“Well I’m earlier than I thought. _fashionably early?_ No, that isn’t a thing.” The man sighs, his breath visible with the frosty winter air. He continues walking, his gait resembling that of someone with high status, confident yet analysing. Then everything stops, as if time itself had gone on break, and the man follows suit by freezing not from the chilling winds hitting him in the back, but instead sensing the presence of another person to his immediate left. It’s seems time has returned, now with a coffee, the mans heart racing. He slowly cranes his head to stare down into a narrow cascading shadow of the buildings. An alleyway, he stares into an alleyway. When the silhouette of a female approaches, the man taps the side of his pants, a slight tink as his nail hits a metal object in his pocket. This is him checking he has something to use in case it gets messy.

“Well you seem awful lonely don’t ya?” The girl is in clear view now, gradually coming to a stop and leaning against the alley side wall. although the streetlights are dull all her features can be seen, from her blonde hair to her pink shirt that’s way too large for her, to her extremely shortcut jeans that could be called denim underwear. She looks about 24, but the man knows that wouldn’t actually be her age. He doesn’t respond for a second, realising she’s just a hooker and considering using up the time he’s made.

“I’m not very good company. I’m used to it.” He tips his red and black striped fedora to the gorgeous lady and continues with his walk. The girl stays in the alleyway, now talking to herself with her head tilted down, the smile off of her face and her eyes Wellings with sorrow. 

“Yeah... trust me, I know the feeling.” She sighs, walking back into the alley. The man stops, feeling pity for the woman. He never thought he could relate to a hooker, but he just leaves it at the fact that New York is one odd place. After a few seconds he begins turning on his heels and walks back to the alley, a confused look on his face as he inspects the individual much closer. She has softer features, a gentle smile, deep blue eyes and a voice of silk. She also has some...“harder features”. Skinny waist, big thighs, Looks like she has hydrophobic skin after a spray tan. She smiles genuinely, and her eyes gleam with something this man had never seen in a long time: Hope. 

“Well, Miss...” The girl snaps out of her trance unlocking her eyes from the mans, instead concentrating on his feet as she continues to speak.

“Oh! Hayley.” The man flashes her a smile before moving on, his charm getting him a wink in return.

“Well Hayley, I was just wonderin’ if two lonely people could maybe be in each others good company for once?...” Hayley continues smiling with the man, doing the same routine she’s done a thousand times before. She’s gotta get some money out of him I feel he wants her.

“Well, girls gotta eat you know. Everything’s got a price...” she smirks, nodding towards the mans expensive looking watch. “As you would know.” The man smiles, his hardened expression relaxing as he takes a slight bow, the most formal gesture he does done in a very long time.

“I’d be happy to oblige.” Hayley grins, almost as quick as the man was with his previous remarks, shoots back a question. Suddenly the thought of money goes out her head, she just wants to convince him to spend a night with her. _I’ve got enough to get by, one lost profit can’t be too bad, right?_ she continues speaking, now comfortable with the mans presence. He doesn’t seem like a bad person to her.

“So, Mister....?” The man looks at Hayley, shaking his head politely. He can’t tell her his name. If she finds out and she’s being monitored by police, or maybe someone seeking revenge, he’ll be done for. The thought of this makes the chilling air feel all the more glacial.

“I’m sorry Hayley, but you’ll just have to stick with Mister.” Hayley giggles, blood rushing to her cheeks as she tilts her head up to the man, her eyes remaining focused down. 

“Well I think Daddy might suit you a bit better, if that’s okay.” The man reacts simply with a heaving breathe and a grin on his face. He checks his watch once more for the time before actually speaking./11:37/. 

“Well Hayley, I can’t refuse such a tempting offer from such a sweet girl like you now, can I?” Hayley shakes her head, the smile still plastered along her face as she beckons the man into the alleyway, a door leading into a building now visible. The man follows, allured by the sense of mystery that hangs over Hayley. Also sex. Definitely allured by sex as well. She disappears through the door, only for the man to follow. Inside is quite a decent sized bedroom, fitted with a king size bed and rows of wooden drawers stuffed with assorted clothes, three lamps lighting up various sections inside. A few curtains seperate the bed itself from the rest of the room, Hayley slipping in between two, dissapearing behind her white cloaking curtains. Hayley lay on the bed, arms out stretched with her body curled up. She looks up to see the man approaching and sits up, putting a hand in between her legs, her other curling her straight blonde hair around her finger. 

“So Daddy, what’d you like to do to your girl?” The lust in her voice is almost tangible, her body impeccably matching the tone. The man continues to flush red, completely confident with what he’s doing although never encountered someone quite like this before. But there’s a first for everything and he isn’t going to say anything to stop it.

“Well I think that may depend on the cost Hayley” The man climbs onto the bed on his knees, still towering over Hayley as he begins unbuttoning his shirt, letting out his impeccable body, impressive and muscular. Hayley looks up again from playing with her shoulder length hair, gawking at his body, running a finger down his chest as she sweetly whispers into his ear.

“Well Daddy, I think this ones on the house for being *so* nice.” The man shakes his head, though retaining his smile and flushed face.

“But Hayley, a girls gotta eat. I can’t just let my girl starve now can I?” He proceeds to take our his wallet, unlike him it’s nothing fancy, just a brown leather wallet. He pulls out 300 dollars in 50’s, setting them on a bedside table. He also takes out the metal object, resembling a sickle, but solid silver. Hayley smirks childishly, not fazed by the money but still very grateful.

“Well Mister, aren’t you kind? I guess I just have to be you’re play toy now-“ she rolls onto her back, the pillows cushioning her head as she takes off her sweater. “-a doll for the nice man. Anything Daddy wants.” The man raises an eyebrow. 

“Anything?”

Hayley nods, pulling off her denim ‘underwear’, revealing yet more undergarments, bright pink with a heart in the centre this time. She begins whispering her next words seductively close to the mans ear. “Anything you want Daddy.” And with that, The man strips off his pants and underwear, tossing them aside, completely nude. He looks down at Hayley, a rather short girl, who he now realises may actually be 24. He ponders for a second, scanning from her dazzling smile to her other dazzling features. Her body is anxious for the man to deliver, biting her tongue and rubbing her legs together she anticipates and hopes for this man inside her.

A second passes by. 

Then another.

And then quicker than Hayley can react, the man has a hand on her throat and is pinning her against the bed. Fear surges through Hayley, the gleam in her eyes no longer there, a scream almost escaping her but no noise can come out, enveloping her in a shroud Of Gloom. This is soon overcome by glorious crashing waves of pleasure. His other hand is inside her panties, her writhing and wriggling body letting loud moans escape her when his grip loosens. The bed bends and groans from the mans quick fingers, following Hayley’s example. He fingers her roughly, quick and hard, her insides are already sticky. She’s began panting, a firm grip around her neck making her light headed. He man The man leans forward and kisses her cheek softly, an entirely out of place gesture for how rough he is being. “O-ohhhh YES DADDY!” She screams these words as her body mixes elegantly with bliss, not exactly the quiet type. _she makes such cute noises_. the man thinks. And he’s not wrong, Hayley will make orgasmic sounds, clenching her body tightly together and letting go after the man lets up. Although he still has a firm grip of Hayley’s neck, the man takes his fingers out of her, all sorts of feelings shooting through her body.

“Already?” The man says, a smirk across his face. Hayley can’t speak just yet, her body still shaking from the orgasm the man gave her. He loosens his grip slightly, and after a few seconds of heavy breathing she responds. 

“You... You have magic... magic fingers... no fair...” The man still has a tight grasp over her throat, letting air in but not letting her head move unnecessarily. He notices that, although her eyes still gleam with the same joy, the man thinks it may be for another reason.

“Don’t worry Hayley, That was ju-“ The man is interrupted by Hayley whining, and pouncing on top of him, whimpering for him to be inside of her. The man is stunned at how she got out of his grip, but even more so at how quick she was. His mind drifts towards other matters, but quickly returns to the moment at hand. _Come on, this is a ‘me’ moment. No need to think about anything else right now._ his mind eases, now looking back towards Hayley who’s now ontop of him. She looks into his eyes longingly, lustfully. The man concedes to her gaze, his cock hard and ready. He flips Hayley onto her back, bringing her panties up to her ankle as her legs are hooked around the mans shoulders. She strips off her oversized shirt, tossing it aside to reveal a red lace bra. 

“I-I’m ready Daddy.” She’s nervous, wanting this to be something more than a one night thing. Maybe she’ll find this man some day in the future. Or maybe they could grab a coffee. _Maybe._ she thinks to herself. She’s sweaty from her last orgasm prior, bracing herself by squeezing her eyes shut, preparing for his dick. The man grabs Hayley’s hand gently and the other placed on her waist. They both smile sweetly at one another, as the man shoves his cock inside of her, stretching her walls. He shoves it right until the hilt, taking up nearly half her body. She screams instantly, a mixture of pain and pleasure swirls around inside her, the man is equally as rough with her the second time, going harder and faster with each consecutive thrust, the sound of skin smashing skin and fuelled by Hayley’s scream, he continues. Hayley moans and groans, yelling out “Daddy!” Every so often as the pillows against her back are the only thing saving her from being pasted against the headboard of the bed. She leans her head backwards, arching her spine as her wonderful physique begins feeling as good as she looks. Hayley feels a rush of blood, squeezing the mans hand with most of her force, any composure she had before was broken down, the emotions hanging around her brain, racking her thoughts. She shudders with delight, those whimpers and cries fulfilled as she orgasms for the second time tonight. The man does not stop or slow down, regardless of her insides now being very sensitive and vulnerable to this mans every action. She screams with more pain than pleasure this time. “A-A-a-AAHHH! ST-... sto..p!” She yells out, bordering on a third orgasm. The last thing she sees before she passes out is the man stopping as per her request, and holding her in a tight embrace, whispering:

“Now wasn’t that worth opening up a bit?” Until her consciousness slips into a dark void, perhaps the mans chest.

“Hayley?” A voice from the darkness says, a brilliant light appearing before her eyes. Instantly recognisable, its the man from... Just then? No, it couldn’t be, there was light shining through the underneath of her door. The voice repeats itself, no longer an echo in her mind searching for a place to settle. “Hayley? Hayley are you alright?” She nods quickly, a grin stretching across her face as she lay in bed, once again fully clothed like the man.

“I’d say just opening up a bit can go a long way. Ain’t that right mister?” This time the man nods, a comforting smile spreading slowly toward the edges of his face.

“That’s right Hayley. That’s right.” The man has Hayley curled up in his lap, her head facing outwards so he can comfortingly stroke her hair in case she woke up in a panic. Hayley wraps her arms around the mans neck, pulling him in for a kiss.

“Well you are by far the best customer I’ve ever got.” The man chuckles whole heartedly, something he never thought he’d never be able to do.

“Just a customer than, aye? I see how it is.” Hayley giggles, covering her mouth as she does so. The mans smile slowly fades after this statement, as if his mouth was injected with liquid solemn. “We’ll see there Hayley... But uh... you do this for money right?” She hesitantly responds, disorientated about what this has to do with how she gets money, almost angry for him asking. She keeps her cool, trying to answer it in the best way she can.

“Yeah.. I mean it’s the only way I can.. I’m a better person! I swear, don’t judge a book by—“ a finger is pressed to her lips, the man shushing her. 

“Would you want to work somewhere else? Somewhere better? Because you obviously don’t mason deserve this life to lead. You deserve better.” Hayley’s eyes light up, but fade just as quickly as if a spark was snuffed out by the boot of reality. She frowns, clearly upset at the harsh truth.

“Of course I would, who wouldn’t?... but I’m just... well, me. Who could I work for that won’t see me as some.. some whore just waiting for pay?” The man looks at her, his black eyes gazing into her blue ones. He doesn’t waste any time, getting straight to the point of it all.

“Marko Black, perhaps? You would be perfect in ways I don’t think even you know yet.” Hayley’s eyes don’t even light up this time. She knows about Marko, and would be overjoyed to work with him but she knows it’s nigh impossible. 

“and you could get me to work in The Thorn? With Marko? That would be great and all but it seems too good to be true. How would you have the inside turn on him anyway. Everyone knows that’s not possible. Word is he has the inside turn on everybody, so why should you be different?” The man simply smiles, deepening his gaze.

“I was heading to a meeting with the man himself till you pulled me aside.” A puzzled look washes her expression of gloom away. 

Huh. Just my luck, right?” A chuckle of boisterous laughter erupts from the man as he instills hope within Hayley. “Just your luck. _7:29_. Cmon, we’ve still got time to be there.” Drevous takes off his fedora and gives a light bow. 

“I, Miss Hayley, am Drevous Kell, and now your personal invitation to this meeting.”


	3. The Monday Gloom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, there’s probably a few mistakes in this one. Didn’t really edit it all too well.

Marko waits in the meeting room of an oversized office building, sleek and modern with a single wall entirely of glass, outlooking the rest of the city. Outside, no being dares tread, the streets of New York devoid of people, not encouraged by the clouded moon nor those who slink among the shadows. He takes the head chair, made of a thick black leather, as he faces the table; sheen redwood with deep purple polished edges, seemingly made of volcanic glass. It has a rose and a cracked crown carved in the centre, one of Marko’s own final touches, accompanied by the ambient red lights that lay overhead. Marko takes a moment to have his gaze trip around the room, continuously finds objects of interest. A full bookcase to the far left, a smaller table with rum, whiskey, vodka and coffee is positioned at the right. Finally, 13 files spread in front of each of the 13 chairs, evenly spread around the table, all similar in features to Marko’s; black leather, sturdy, comfortable. Although, smaller in size of course. His attention pricks toward the folder that lay in front of him as if his hand had brushed across a tack. It lay upright, meeting Marko’s gaze. A moment of tragedy washes around in his eyes before he returns the glare. He quickly realises he’s mad at a folder for looking at him funny.

“Now let’s see... what story has DJ Jerk-off made up this time.” He opens his folder, running his index finger across the Manila cover as he reads on. New York Police Department’s classified documents stare at the roof as Marko continues flicking through the pages, skimming across various news articles. Murders. Robberies. Torture. Arson. Suspect list for the recent Siege Of The Underground. He chuckles as he flashes past that last one, the usual Marko grin confirming he remembers something that brings him joy. Stopping near the back of the file, a detailed document lay dusty and forbidden. This gives the recent update on the ‘Thorn Situation’ As it is so described. It only begins to go into detail about the collapse of previous Mafia bosses before the overhanging feeling of loneliness draws Marko to read aloud. He glances over the lost comrades, getting to the more recent of detailing, a full description of himself.  
“Marko Black. D.T.S: Extreme. Origin: NY, USA. Strengths: Manipulative, Accurate, Powerful, Under-Estimated, Cunning, Ignorant to Pain, Allergic to Walnuts. Weaknesses: Currently Researching. Parentage: Unknown. Family History: Unknown. Motives: Unknown. Allies: Tony Tohni, Stella Tohni, Nero Alissus, Kyle Gregorio, Klovski Mischovez. Alias’: Unknown. Address: Unknown. Additional Notes: If sighted do not approach, check in with the Commissioner and continue tailing for an accurate position. He fights dirty. Beware.” Marko takes a minute to think about this, twiddling his thumbs and having the paper stare into the empty space above once more.  
“So they don’t know? Good. Good...” He continues looking through the file. Potential weaknesses. Attempts to find his past. How he exists. Marko continues to laugh, mocking these puddly strands of information the police have managed to get.  
“Come now, They didn’t think it’d be that easy did they? I want a challenge, and this is... pathetic.” He pauses, trying to think of a good line to say only to himself, some words of inspiration he could use in case this particular situation came up.  
“you expect there to be a vaccine to cure my dirty needs?.. no no no, scratch that... sounds way too sexual.” He wonders how people in movies thought of these badass one liners so quickly, before having his brain inform him that they all have scripts. He continues thinking, letting out a sigh of frustration. He flips to the very last page in the folder, striking his attention.  
“Greyham Lawton, eh?...” he reads on with intrigue filling his mind, only an image and vague notes are present. Greyham has unnaturally blue hair, fraying from scalp to tip as if he’s been electrocuted. He has a menacing grin and some form of home made contraption, Marko instantly recognising it as an explosive device. His grin almost aligns with Greyham’s. If Marko could see his eyes he’d expect them to be bewildering, riddled with the mind of an insane man, but alas they are covered by steam punk goggles with pitch black lenses. The notes scattered around the single page include ‘do not get within his visual arc’ and ‘the photographer, Carrey Jim, regrettably has passed away since this photo was taken. He died due to the combined afflictions of Intense Animal CareTaking and Soggy Mask Syndrome.’ Marko finishes up his light reading as he begins tapping his fingers, awaiting his guests he looks up to see a clock above the entrance of the room. _11:34_.  
“I guess I _am_ a bit early.” The instant he forms that sentence a man creaks open the door to see Marko looking at him menacingly. Man is an overstatement. He appears to be an over aged boy, his mannerisms timid like a child and voice quaking, but body structure and mental ability of a 29 year old. Marko makes the first move.  
“Well hello there. Finally some company. Come. Sit.” Marko gestures to the chairs around the table, a wide outstretching of his arms signalling to choose a seat.  
“You must be Ferdinand Pohiler. Engineering and construction specialist.” The short Latino man speaks up, his body matching the same features of his hair. Short, brown, slicked back and oily. 

“Oh, yes of course.” The man continues to timidly speak as he seats himself to Marko’s right. “And you must be Mr. Black. It’s an honour to meet you sir, it truly is.” Marko looks down at his white but tanned skin, examining his arms and hands, then shrugs at Ferdinand. He puts on a genuinely pleasant voice, and continues the conversation. 

“Please, call me Marko. First name basis here, Ferdinand. Don’t want anyone feeling uncomfortable around here.” Ferdinand has a puzzled expression on his face cut off by his own slight ticking smile, opening his mouth to speak before being abruptly cut off by another guest arriving. _11:37_. A loud voice disrupts the previously civilised conversation. A happy fellow, large and bulky and looking like he could crumple Ferdinand up into a ball and eat him, enters the room. The new guest’s eyes pooling with excitement as he looks over at Marko. 

“Markoooo! It has been some time friend, no?” This man is clearly Russian, his thick accent making no attempt to hide it. 

“Ahh yes, Klovski.” Marko stands up as Klovski pulls him into a handshake, quickly turning into a hug.  
“Hahaha, it has been some time old friend. Drunk as per usual.” Klovski laughs way too much at this, coughing and spluttering near the end of his fit. 

“Ahaha! Yes. Excitement is fuel of life. And booze is fuel of excitement. Glad some person understand this.” He says, holding up a near empty bottle of vodka. Marko smiles genuinely. He’s never seen this man so happy. Klovski used to get drunk to forget about the troubles of existing in this poisonous cycle of life, a desolate hole that has bore inside him over the years. Now he gets drunk to remember he’s immune to 22 different poisons. Ferdinand coughs abruptly, shrinking into his seat as he draws attention back towards the timid man. 

“Ahh yes. Ferdinand, this is Klovski Mischovez, demolition specialist. Klovski, this is Ferdinand Pohiler, Engineering specialist.” The both politely shake hands although Ferdinand’s appears red when he finishes. It was just the three of them for the next hour or so, discussing life, recent events and the best drinks money can buy. Marko continuously insists that Ferdinand should stop asking questions relating to the presence of the, being in the meeting room, saying that business will be discussed when most of the attendees have arrived. Over the course of the next few hours and a flurry of people begin to arrive, gradually filling all the seats... except for one. Each person is introduced to Marko, a real authoritative figure around a group of people, most of which he barely knows. He just likes to remind himself in tense situations like this that he doesn’t know some of his victims, and this is hardly different. He smirks, lost in thoughts about his career. One man named John quickly draws a rough chart of where everyone is seated, where they’re from, just in case anyone was wondering, and who they are so the meeting can “hurry up and get down to brass tax.”. June asked for her role to be changed to stealth, as she believes thievery is below her now. Marko agrees swiftly, not wishing to drown his ears in the high pitched noises that escape her mouth. He disagrees with his brain that that’s her actual voice.

Seat no. A Marko Black: The Boss - U.S  
L Seat no. 1 Klovski Mischovez: Demolitions - Russia  
L Seat no. 2 June Daniels: -thievery- Stealth - United Kingdom  
L Seat no. 3 Horacio Drelenders: Vehicle delivery/ Vehicle Maneuvering - Spain  
L Seat no. 4 Yelari obitwa: Data analysis - Japan  
L Seat no. 5 -Currently Not Seated-  
L Seat no. 6 Nelson Alness: Health/Field Support - U.S  
R Seat no. 6 Penelope Grace: Waste Disposal/ Cleanup - Sweden  
R Seat no. 5 Nero Alissus: Materials supplier - Italy  
R Seat no. 4 Arivi Lėturee: The Distraction - France  
R Seat no. 3 Kyle Gregorio: Interrogation/ Supervising - U.S  
R Seat no. 2 John Wellington: Consultant/ Overseer - Britain  
R Seat no. 1 Ferdinand Pohiler: Engineering and Construction - Puerto Rica

After everyone has arrived, aside from one missing chair the loud chatter continues amongst the members, which only grew with each new arrival. Marko speaks up from the constant nattering of those who are seated next to each other, everyone talking with everyone.  
“Quiet now, this meeting is about to get underway.” Marko stands up, everyone silenced by his actions. He adjusts his tie and places his fedora on the table, revealing his solid black hair. A rare sight for many.  
“Now, we can start talking business. Nothing is completely outrageous and all will be considered equally in my eyes except for the utterly absurd. So, what we are here for, -“ Marko is cut off by the sudden outburst of John, who speaks quieter the longer his sentence stretches, 

“But not everyone... is here.... just... yet...” all turn to face John, except Marko who rotates his head towards the empty seat.

“Ahh yes, This man has always been know for “fashionably late”. A good friend of mine. He will join us shortly, and I will fill him in on the prior information of this meeting personally when he decides to arrive.” He swaps attention with the others around the room, sitting back down.  
“Now, business. Each of you have been carefully selected by yours truly to become potential candidates for Thorns future. First, I require a demonstration of cohesion. As newly found allies of course, you will need to get along. Or you shall learn to. Now, Kyle has generously gifted me his time by getting a job ready to partake in, thank you Kyle.” Kyle nods, smiling slightly.  
“The catch: there will be no participation from myself. That’s just cheating. You must use every other person seated around this table in the operation and you must be successful.” Arivi speaks up this time, interrupting Marko’s explanation. 

“Where will it be? And what time?” Arivi shrinks in his chair as Marko’s glare could turn 70 percent of his body into ice, like Cerebus towards a toxic soul he holds back the urge to cast him aside 

“As I was saying..” Marko says, gritting his teeth. “You must get information off of Kyle, as I have no more participation in the job.” Kyle stands up, bowing in Marko’s direction. A whisper spreads through the table which is silenced by the raising of Marko’s finger. Kyle speaks once the chatter has gone away, uttering the words carefully

“We will be robbing the New York City Energo buildings CEO’s safe.” The room erupts into a roar, all standing up, questions and yells from a mixture of voices flooding the previous, peaceful silence. It hurts Marko’s ears, the amount of professionalism flooding out the giant glass wall. 

“How?” “Impossible!” “Wait..” “HAY WHY DOESNT EVERYONE YELL SOME MORE! AHHHHHH!” “*Wait!*” “Never ‘Erd Of it! What’s the fucking fuss?!” Marko gets fed up with the noise almost immediately, rising from his seat once more and slamming his fist onto the table while yelling at the audience before him. 

“Silence!” The room does exactly as instructed.  
Sit. Down.” All members take back to their seats again, including Marko.  
“In case you idiots haven’t realised, we are on the top floor of the Energo building. If you had let Kyle finish explaining... you have 6 hours to plan and 12 hours to execute said plan.” A murmur spreads through them again before Marko shuts it down once more. “HUSH! We are _professionals_ here. Act like it. This room and this room alone is the one you are able to access, so feel free to come and go as you please to fetch what you may need. Once you have planned out how, you will then do. I will always be watching your progress.” Marko takes a few more steady breaths to make sure they bite the sinker.  
“Do not fail me. Good luck.” And with that, Marko waves his hand dismissively, walking over to the massive window his silhouette of the rising sun casting a shadow across the table. He takes a sip of his drink, a fine whiskey, as another man charges through the door, a woman has his hand and the man has hers, clasped together with a vice like grip. Marko turns around, a smile from ear to ear despite the circumstances. Everyones attention snaps at the two new arrivals.  
“Ahhh, hello Drevous. Nice of you to drop by. Everyone, this is Drevous Kell, Assault and Confrontation specialist.” He motions around the room, although no one looks towards Drevous, but instead the woman accompanying him. Marko approaches the woman, Her clothes are clean and pristine, her body in perfect condition. And most of the men in this room are very, very lonely. Including Mr. Black himself.  
“Oh? And what is your name Miss?” The woman turns towards Marko, not recognising him. She expected some big burly man with a tommy gun and cigar, but Marko was a lot scrawnier than everyone in the room. The woman speaks up, her voice confident as she faces Marko with a look of distain. 

“Hayley, Hayley Summers. And yours?” Marko outstretches his arm to shake hands, which they both do. Marko smirks for a second, building up the suspense intentionally. He tends to do this a lot.

“My name is Marko, Miss Summers. Marko Black.” As the room grows silent, the faint whirring of blades can be heard in the distance. Everyone turns around, searching for the source, confused and wondering. Another minute of silence. The noise grows ever closer. Another minute. Marko turns to the glass window to see a police helicopter. Almost on cue, screams surface as the window erupts into lacerating glass shards.

A fiery explosion ensued afterwards, the instincts of everyone raring in, flipping the large table on its side to protect their vulnerable angles. A voice explodes from the helicopters loudspeaker, like the decree of a man-made god.

“Marko Black! We know you are in there! Come to the window with your hands up and resolve this like civil people! We do not wish to use force if it can be avoided!” Marko snatches his glass off the floor, which he had previously dropped from the shards tearing into his back, feeling the stickiness only found in the texture of blood, confirming this by the sight of his own blood on his hands. This is a first for him. He speaks in a whisper to everyone taking cover behind the table. He returns to reality, no longer focussed on his blood but instead the remaining twelve people under his command.

“Everyone stay here. Don’t make your presence known. As far as you’re concerned, you are hostages. Got it?” He gets some hasty nods, and continues to think of how to overcome the situation.  
“hmm... Drevous, your gun. I need to borrow it for a while. And Nero, come with me. We’re gonna create a hostage situation here.” Marko looks towards Nero, nodding with a blank face, followed by an uneasy “Yes” from Drevous. Drevous hands Marko his gun, still unaware how He knew of it. Nero is then put in a strong headlock by Marko, who presses the gun against his skull swiftly. Marko walks out into plain view of the chopper, it’s bright light shining directly in Marko’s face, merely matching his own glare. 

“Woah!” There is the distinct clicking of a radio being switched off. A few seconds pass, as the police never estimated it would be a hostage situation.  
“Put the gun down! We can still resolve this peacefully! Just let the innocents go!” Arivi peeks his head out from the side of the table, and another click of the radio as Marko smiles, still standing silently.  
“We know you have more than one hostage Marko! Tell us how many you really have!” Marko nods, smiling the entire time.  
“how many?!” Marko counts to 5, thinking that they either believe he has 5 hostages or eleven, both are wrong. “Do not be brash with your actions! We are to believe you want something! after they are all accounted for we can negotiate terms! What do you demand?!” Marko enjoys this nice conversation with a heavily armed police helicopter. He stares down the barrel of its 40mm cannon. Not the first one he’s had, and he doubts it’ll be his last.

“I demand a second chance! To start a new life away from all of this crime! I demand to give myself up at cost of immunity! To face no charge for my crimes at the cost of a crime free New York! Hell, I might even become an investigator!” He smiles legitimately, pretending to be distracted at all the opportunities he has as a man away from crime. The police take a second to respond.

“that we can arrange, once all hostages are safe in the hands of the police! Anything else?” Marko nods. 

“Effective immediately!” The chopper takes a few minutes this time, obviously speaking to someone with higher power. The decision comes through as Marko is getting restless, but knows his plan is working. 

“okay, okay. Effective immediately you will become a rehabilitated Marko Black, fit to enter society! Now give up the hostages Marko! No more games!” Marko chuckles, an evil gleam in his eyes. He meant to do this the entire time, but he loves screwing with the police way too much to pass up an opportunity like this. 

“That’s fantastic!” Nero draws his final eternal breath, a gunshot ringing through the air, the single firing of a bullet. Nero’s body crumples to the ground as the 9mm destroys the top half of his skull. The remnants of his head ooze out onto the newly painted crimson carpeted floor as the smirk on Marko’s face grows ever larger. He turns around to face the the table  
“Hey Hayley! A position just opened up!” He turns around to face Hayley, peering out the side of the cover. She sees the chopper turning on its side, a heavy 40mil cannon pointed towards the table. Hayley screams something she may regret the rest of her life. “Everyone get out of the way!” All members dive out of the table, Marko hitting the deck facing towards the chopper. Drevous rolls out from the cover of the table, searching his pockets for a weapon. He pulls out a small, circular object, resembling a miniature sickle, and throws it with extreme precision towards the chopper. Out of pure blind luck, the sickle slices the edge of the canon pointed towards them. As the barrel of this weapon heats up, everyone but Marko scatters towards the door, who still enjoys his glass of whiskey. If he’s to die, he decides when. And he knows it isn’t his time yet. An explosion is sent through the barrel, directing it into the cockpit of the chopper, splitting the canon with enough force to rip through the helicopters tail rotors. Marko waltz’s over to the edge and watches as it spirals to the ground, it’s blades awkwardly spinning and stopping when it connects to the side of the building sending glass and concrete to stray into the open. Everyone at the door is gobsmacked, gawping at Marko as he leisurely walks out of the room, but not before shooting Drevous a look of approval.  
“Good shot Drevous. I think I’ll need one of those, if you don’t mind. Aside from that, I think that concludes our meeting for today. Dismissed.” Everyone pushes and shoves out the door, trying to grasp for escape of a safe place. Well except for Marko, Drevous and Hayley that is, who still are dazed at the events, the shards in Marko’s back starting to get the best of him. He strolls to Nero’s lifeless corpse and kicks it off the edge of the building, sailing down, and finally spraying his blood against the ceiling of the burnt and shredded chopper below. A familiar track begins playing, And he begins to nod his head to the beat of death, a classical tune played on fine instruments that only those who have heard its melodies before understand how to strum it’s strings. Marko enjoys these moments, a chained urge to sing along with the voices in his head. He likes to whisper these things to himself at times like this, facing the true reality of it all. With a chorus of people to follow his word to the letter, he is the vocalist for a mimicking world. He picks up his fedora, giving in to the challenge of breaking restraint, his entire head sings along.

“Once the bridge burns,  
There lay no escape,  
And to the Anthem you must succumb.  
When the ocean water churns,  
Or you are tied up with tape,  
To the Anthem you must succumb.  
Perhaps an old friend turns,  
Even the destruction of a cape,  
To the Anthem you must succumb.  
But if the cards are in place,  
And you partake in a mighty crew,  
Then the Anthem, as powerful as it is...  
The Anthem must succumb to you.”


	4. The Inside Man

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” The police commissioner says to his fellow officer, strain in his voice caused by long hours of shouting. The scene behind him is the organised equivalents chaos: officials running around, officers at their desks with squinted eyes, detectives with badges bringing in random civilians for questioning. It’s a mess of papers and people flying around. The commissioner speaks to the policeman once more. “We can change you with someone else if you aren’t totally ready, but know you are the most qualified specialist we have staffed here. The Thorn have been ruling New York for years now, and it is no simple task to infiltrate them, especially with the power Marko is carrying. News is that he’s gathering the previous New York superpowers, Mafia Bosses and anyone else he deems worthy as recruits. We only know of this man:” the commissioner slaps a folder on the desk in front of him, a muscular and intense man’s photo on the cover, before speaking once more. “Kyle Wellington at this moment, Owner, Founder and CEO of Stright, one of the worlds biggest weapons manufacturers and bodyguard services. Now remember, Marko Black is an extremely dangerous man by himself. Don’t underestimate him, no matter how he looks or how he acts. Don’t let your emotions show and don’t let him look you straight in the eye. Do not shake his hand and do not, *Do NOT*, say you are with the police. We’ve given you an alternate identity which you will approach an associate of him with. From there, you will move on.” Hudson nods, his instructions clear. 

“Yes sir. No longer will a criminal run this fine city of ours. It will be an honour taking this thug down.” The commissioner sighs a breath of relief, rubbing the sweat off of his forehead.

“Good luck Hudson. You’ll need it.” And with that, they both part ways. Commissioner Harvey sits down at his desk as Hudson exits the room, out into the rest of the police station. The noise pierced the previous hush-hush nature of the conversation beforehand like a pencil through paper. The station has been busy ever since Marko Blacks rise of the The Thorn, a constant storm in everyone’s mind of ‘where’s and ‘when’s on his next move. Rumours have gone around about who he is, what he’s done and what he looks like. No one can ever get a clear shot of his face, it’s either extremely blurred or the wrong person entirely. Most officers can only assume he has some superpower, some immediate access to information for who he wants, explaining how he’s seven steps ahead of everyone else. Some say he can bend people to his will simply by speaking to them, some magic voice to enter peoples minds. The most popular opinion is that Marko Black had a traumatic past, as no records of him or his family exist. According to all known records Marko Black was born in New York at 16 years old, has been in police custody once before for endangerment of life, where he managed to escape before any fingerprints or photos were taken of him. Security camera footage had been tampered with, and those officers who did see his face couldn’t last through the week. Meanwhile, conspiracy theorists think he’s a ghost taken the solid form of a man, seeking revenge on the world that cast him away, one that sent him spiralling down to his death and that he plans on doing the same to those who wronged him. Now what does Hudson believe? He believes this man is a psychopath, one that must be stopped at all costs. Even if it means his own life. He straightened up his disguise, a three piece fully black suit, accompanied by matching glasses and wide brimmed hat. He carries his baton in a concealed compartment behind his back inside the suit, and the same sort of design for his gun in his trousers. Ingenious design, unnoticeable to the naked eye as the fine stitching prevents seams to be shown. Although, Hudson has taken no measures like these to hide his police badge, simply putting it in his back pocket. In his mind, he believes Marko Black will not have an interest in his ass. He continues walking out of the station, black hoodie and blue jeans on. He’s ready. Unfortunately, he also has to take some precautions before meeting Marko. Hudson weaves in and out of the busy streets, taking alleyways and main footpaths, effectively limiting the possibility of a pursuer thanks to half an hour of looking sideways at pedestrian. A few more minutes pass as he approaches the meeting point. Although it is very dark out, the streets dazzle with lights and signs. His meeting place should be very obvious, as he’s been there with some friends time and time before. Off Duty, of course. He approaches his destination, slowing down as he reaches a night club called “The Rose.” Hudson chuckles at the irony of that. As does Marko. Hudson freezes up, all of his preparation and training out the window, like a cat that’s been grabbed by the scruff of the neck, he stay frozen until the icy grip of Marko’s vision allows him to. Marko speaks up from behind Hudson. 

“Hehe... yeah, quite funny isn’t it? Came up with that one myself. ‘Course I could have met you at another bar. “The Pit.” But I guess you wouldn’t have found that as funny, so I took the next best thing.” Marko stares up at the sign as Hudson feels the tightness loosen, his muscles relaxing as he turns around slowly, looking down slightly to meet Marko’s gaze. Hudson doesn’t believe this is Marko. Marko wouldn’t have as easily shown himself like this, especially to someone he’s never met before.  
No..just some lackey sent by him. _he thinks._

“Yeah, real chuckle worthy. So we gonna go inside?” Marko bows slightly, waving his hands towards the door in a mockingly exaggerated motion. 

“We shall.” They both stride towards the door, already open and waiting. The entire bar is devoid of life, apart from a lone bartender washing down the bench, his face remaining unseen. The two men that have just entered direct themselves towards a lone table in the centre of the club. Marko’s gaze hardens, his voice coarser and his tone authoritative.   
“Sit down. So, let’s begin... where to start, where to start...” the locks click on the bar doors, the bartender watching Hudson intently through a darkened mask. Marko taps his finger on the table as he continues.  
“Oh I know. Officer Frederick Hudson of the NYPD, I believe you have a gun in a concealed pocket in your trousers, a baton of sorts in your coat and your badge in your back pocket. Amateur... anyway, you left the police station about half an hour ago, but weaved like a god damn rat around the city to cover your tracks. You have been assigned to my case by personal request of the commissioner himself. A high honour aye? you have been an officer for 7 years, so that seems pretty deserved in my books. Although, that fake identity isn’t going to fool the fucking liquor store. I also believe you have a wife with no children yet although she is four months pregnant with a child you would like to call Rosanne but she much prefers the name Brittany, and, just in my personal opinion, and judging by the scans, she looks more like a-“ Marko is interrupted by Hudson grabbing for his gun, but Marko’s reflexes of lightning deter the officer, pinning his arms down against the table with one hand and grabbing the gun and baton himself with the other. Despite how scrawny Marko looks, he has a grip of iron and resilience like Hudson’s never seen. Marko is fuelled by pure determination, empowering him to do what he must. Even what he cannot. Marko lets his grip go, the baton leaning against his chair and the pistol swinging around his finger. Hudson makes a lunge for them, but hears the click of a weapon behind him which has his motor functions incapacitated. Marko smiles, wiggling his finger at Hudson.  
“Uh-uh-uh, I wouldn’t move if I were you buddy. That bartender over there is one of the best damn shots I know. Apart from myself of course. He could throw that gun at your ankle and you’d drop dead. So please, go ahead Officer. Now, what were you about to do.” Silence. Marko smiles evilly, his grin spreading from ear to ear.  
“I’m Marko Black, Officer Hudson. At your service.” Hudson is fuming, after so much practice, so much training, Marko’s lackey ruins it like its all nothing, like he put in no effort to do this.  
“I actually did put in some effort.” Marko says, as if his thoughts were read.  
“I had to get a burner laptop. Not easy to find, one that is untraceable, disposable. Had to fucking wash it too. Thing was disgusting... ANYWAY, where was I. Or rather, where were you. You’re here to be the inside man, right? The rat. Got that. But there ain’t gonna be any of that shit in my city, oh no. But all you wanted was just a simple “Taking down The Thorn” headlines everywhere with your face on the front page. A commemoration for ya, maybe even throw a fucking parade, eh?” Hudson speaks up after Marko’s monologue of sorts. 

“Not exactly what I pictured but that would be nice. Also no, I was not meant to be an inside man, but we only said that through radio and phone signals to try and pinpoint how easily you get information. The real operation is safely secured where you’ll neve-“ 

“in the vault of boring documents, with all other 347,781 files in it..... 347,785..... 34786...... anyway, to the point, yours was particularly interesting. A man with no past, much like myself actually. Had to start anew? Maybe run away from someone? Don’t worry Hudson, I can see the fire in your eyes, the hatred bubbling and boiling so much you just want to kill me right?” His Tom drops to pity instead of hate.  
“I’ve been there. We all have, actually. But it’s okay Fred, because I’m a fucking volcano compared to your piddly matchstick hatred. I can dish out a lot more heat in three seconds than you could ever muster up in three years, so don’t feel regret when you throw a few punches at a mercenary of death and stare down the barrel of their gun. Because regret will get you no where. It’s only limiti-“ Marko stops and sighs, realising he’s doing that monologuing thing again.  
“This world has wronged me greatly. It isn’t a perfect world, I know. I’m in it. But even something as horrid as this should never have happened....” he trails off, losing concentration for a few seconds before clicking back to the situation.  
“See, I believe in an eye for an eye, and when the world cuts your life, petal by petal, that’s exactly what I’m gonna do. I’m gonna tear down the world. Petal. By. Petal.” Hudson raises an eyebrow. 

“An eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind.” Marko responds, snapping. “But if you don’t take any eyes, you’ll start losing lives. Look kiddo, I brought you here today for a reason. If I wanted you dead I coulda done it from seven blocks away in a seven story high building with seven snipers.” Marko doesn’t realise he has used the number 7 three times in a row as an example number. 

“What’s with you and the number 7?” Hudson says, now more confused than afraid. 

“Huh? Oh uhh, just kinda natural to say that number I guess. Anyway, what I plan on doing is giving you a better life. One that could help everyone.” Hudson shows his gratitude to this offer by immediately questioning why and how Marko is so powerful. An odd form of gratitude, but that’s not the point. 

“And how’d ya plan on doing that?” Marko smiles his sinister smile, almost breaking the restrictions of his face. 

“I don’t plan on doing it any more. It’s already done. If you choose to join The Thorn, meet me back here any time within a month. If you do in fact choose not to join, I’ll hand myself in because obviously I’m lacking the skills I once had and deserved no less a fate. Alas, good day officer.” Hudson is gobsmacked as he watches Marko stroll out of the bar, as does the bartender. A flood of people rush in. Ordinary citizens. Guess the bars open. Hudson shakes off the confusion and walks away, out of the bar into the night to report what he’s found. Well, those were his intentions anyway, before he saw the man himself, Marko Black, with one of his best friends. He visited the club to meet up with this particular friend. He is also the best shot Hudson knows. So he was steaming when he saw his friend Drevous Kell get into a car with a Criminal Overlord. 

He trailed them for a few hours, making loops around the city in his 97’ Black and red Mustang, his headlights barely reaching the sleek Bugatti ahead, watching them closely from around the corners they just turned. He no longer has his weapons on him, instead checking for anything else he could use, but right now that isn’t a priority. The only thing he cares about at this moment is where Marko is taking Drevous. Eventually, the car stops back at another club. Hudson slams his fist on the dash, aggravated with the amount of wasted time he spent driving into Marko’s hand.  
“He was... he was TOYING with me!” He watches only Marko get out, and head into the club, apparently abandoned again. Drevous drives off, to an unknown location. Hudson doesn’t need to think about this decision: confront the biggest threat this city has ever, and may ever, face, or trail his friend in the car to find out where a possible hideout may be. It is obvious in the trained officers mind. Hudson steps out of the car, stomping towards the bar and flinging the door open to see Marko standing behind the counter, glass of whiskey in hand. 

“Ahhh... hello Hudson. Glad you could join me.” Takes a sip of his drink, holding onto the taste of wanna-get-smashed.  
“Have a nice drive?” Hudson thunders over. 

“So... whoever you are.. I know you aren’t Marko. He isn’t this stupid or Brash. Tell me where he is or I will start-” Marko cuts him off rudely, the oil in his heart sparked by Hudson’s open flame. 

“Or you will what?! What could you possibly do to me? You take me to prison, I will escape the prison. You beat me down, you will get beaten down ten times as hard every other day of your life. You collapse my empire and New York will come crumbling with it. I have zero people I care about, and zero liabilities. You can’t touch me, Officer Hudson. And you know what they say about people you can’t beat.” Hudson is thunderstruck. He now has a slight feeling this could possibly be Marko. 

“Tell me where he is... NOW!” Marko sighs, obviously fed up. 

“He’s standing right in front of you, you moron, you fucking disgrace to an officer, you daft coward of a person! you leech of society! you absolute GOD DAMN IMPATIENT ASSHOLE! I Will break you in half and send the remains to your commissioner telling him of your success and how YOU ARE FUCKING BLIND!....” Marko adjust his suit and tie, somehow in an intimidating way that sends shivers down Hudson’s spine.   
“I get... carried away at times. Remember the Siege? I remember the Siege. Got carried away then as well..... good times. Good times...” Hudson now believes this is Marko, the sting in his voice making it clear.  
“Now... What will you do, Hudson?” Hudson raises an eyebrow, still puzzled and very much afraid. 

“What exactly are you offering?” Marko chuckles, as if the answer is more obvious than the colour of grass. 

“A place in The Thorn. Could be handy having you around. Unlimited access to our facilities, personnel, Hotels, Meeting Points, reserved occasions as well as some other benefits. But I’m not trying to convince you. I already know you will, whether it takes time or you admit it now, you will join. Now answer that phone Hudson. Someone important is on the other side.” There is no phone ringing in the room. 

“Uhhh... wh-“ He is interrupted by the ringing of his phone, the commissioner on the other end, believing that the meeting has finished a while ago and Marko May have gotten the best of him. Hudson slides his thumb across, declining the call, raising Marko’s eyebrow. 

“Oh? Well, that was the commissioner, Hudson. He must be worried sick.” Hudson looks down, weakly smiling. 

“Yeah, sorry. Guess I was just listening to your offer a bit too intently. Now... what were you saying about other benefits?” Marko smiles. He’s hooked. 

“Well, as I was saying... you can’t join the Thorn. Physical impossibility with your police background, you will never be trusted to have a place in my home.” Marko adjusts his suit, standing up as he says the next words as calm as his last.  
“I’ll have a few associates visit you, asking them to make it as painless as possible, but I’m not really bothered.” Marko begins to move his chair when Hudson yells out, fearing for not only his own life, but his family’s as well. He just can’t take that chance of fate if he isn’t bluffing. 

“WAIT! Marko, Wait!.... how can I join? I’m listening, I’m intrigued, just gimme a chance. What will I have to do to prove myself?” Marko smirks, stopping. 

“Well... you can use your alias that you were going to use tonight. I’m sure that might work if you believed it would fool me.” Marko anticipates the following question, purposefully delaying his answer. 

“Use it for what?” Marko uneasily adjusts his tie, as if it is an uncomfortable subject, regardless of the fact he doesn’t care. 

“I need you to bring me the head of the commissioner in a week..... Arivi.” Marko gets up, exiting the club into intense rain. Hudson does the same, quickly jogging after him. Marko stops at a streetlight, before turning to face Hudson.  
“Do we have a deal?” Marko’s arm awaits outstretched, the one thing in his body that people may be drawn towards. A deal with the devil. Hudson doesn’t shake his hand, instead looking back over his shoulder to see the name of the club. 

“The Rise.” 

Hudson turns back around, but refuses to make this deal. Face to Face with Marko, and all of his sense are numbed. Hudson May have declined, but when he turned back around, they both shook hands. It wasn’t Hudson that shook. 

_It was Arivi._


	5. A Game of Chance and Cheaters

An early morning rise of the sun sees two men treading the ever-alive city, no particular place in mind, yet walk evermore they shall. Their feet make a faint tap as both steel-cap and dress shoes strike the ground, the pair smiling and chuckling at one another as sharp pains still plague them both, shooting up their legs with every waking moment. Looking between the two, their features are starkly opposing. A dusty black suit and red tie, with slicked back hair and an annoying strand that sways as he walks despite the fact he wears a solid black fedora, occasionally swishing over the small scar down his left eyebrow. A constant grin awaits the world, as he continues to have one pasted onto his face, smirking and smiling at every little detail he can notice. Marko walks alongside a typical construction worker: bright yellow vest, hammers on a tool belt, as well as a noticeably well made pair of glasses. His facial features are slim, a deep blue buzzcut obscured by the hard hat he wears, his eyes an algae green that glisten on the edge of crying in a fit of hilarity with some traces of silliness merged. As the CEO of a chemical explosives company, he strides confidently next to the man whose name he hasn’t even revealed. Both men are chuckling boisterously, discussing the better side of gambling, while not knowing who the other even is. But neither care. For all the CEO knows, he’s talking to a fellow businessman, and for all Marko knows, he’s just chatting with a construction worker who happened to be angry at his losses with a casino. One interrupted phone call later and a few jokes about how everything is rigged, including the women, and the two are hitting it off like they’ve known each other for years. Marko... he enjoys this. Not knowing. A bizarre concept in his line of work, almost unimaginable, yet he strives and bounds for keeping things unknown. He hasn’t asked for a name, or where they’re going, or what they do or how they do it or if he’s got a girl or how he can afford those almost perfect looking glasses. Platinum, silver, traces of gold. Pure, entirely clear glass, from the inside at least, yet barely possible to see from the outside caused by a flamed-brown tint, sturdy enough rims with intricately detailed depictions of an outstanding city, fire— Marko stops himself, the realisation of awkwardness washing over him as he stares at the mans glasses. The man shrugs it off, stopping the conversation to drop the situation.

“You wonderin’ bout these?” The man taps the sides of his spectacles, causing Marko to recoil with something similar to worry, that perhaps a masterpiece might be lost. As if he is confounded by his own actions, Marko recalls where he is and who he is. Marko Black, leader of the Thorn. Ruthless. Cunning. Smart. Just walked out of a collapsing building... yet he still remains silent with contempt, his response only to nod. Nod and chuckle.

“Made ‘em my self. Got a big score down at Chicago which left me with too much money. Decided to do something with it, y’know? something that I wanted to do, just to try for once. Guess it worked out, huh? Heheheh.” The man hands over a grin, Marko returning the favour. This makes his mind wander, what he could do with everything he has. _Build a criminal empire_ he thinks as his mind chuckles, his face following suit. The glasses almost look.... steampunk, an odd feature but it does seem to suit his personality, a surprisingly comfortable ratio of silly to serious. He tries to set his mind off of it, and right now Marko just wants to gamble now. So gamble he shall.

“Doesn’t appear to be much people like yourself nowadays. Risk and reward type of guy. Hands on and work. Hell, I’m not even one myself, unless I want to, of course. That means I don’t actually do much these days, so I’m always up for a game of Chance.” Marko replies, instigating the other mans response. He knows what the man will say, which saddens him deeply. This’ll be his life, knowing. Yet he has a feeling this man is full of surprises. 

“Well then, a game of Chance it is!” The man expresses excitedly. “You seem to have a bit more know-how with gambling, so how ‘bout your choice of game and place.” The man looks to his left, then to his right, then a full circle around him before he leans in closer, cupping his hands over Marko’s ear and whispering all too loudly  
“Although I’m realllly good at snap, so if that’s on the table...” the man has a complete blank stare set on his face, making Marko chuckle. His seriousness retains for a short moment longer before collapsing into a snigger.  
“How ‘bout it?” The men both stop walking, Marko tapping his chin and shuffling his foot around to think of an answer. He settles that he’ll bring him along to a gambling night with a few of his.. ‘work friends’ that are up for it as well. He thinks about who he should bring before answering the mans question. Guess he’ll be playing snap with a construction worker, a thief, an overseer, and a killer couple. Two other names pop into his head for a brief moment.  
_Drevous. Mischovez._  
He instantly decides to invite them along, and with Drevous comes Ms. Summers. He presumes at least.

“Great. I got just the thing for a man like you. Bring some pals if you want, I’ll be bringing a few buddies of mine. We’ll have a lil’ gambling night round 21st. If you’re up for it, I’m free on...” Marko brings out a baby blue notebook, flicking through dates and times and days and years and events, before stopping at one page, scanning it briefly. “Hmm... Wednesday sound good?” Marko smiles, outstretching his hand as if sealing his fate. A phrase shoots through his mind like a pick scraping against ice. It’s harrowing and sewn with whispers, yet audible all the same.  
“ _Play your cards well. The Anthem draws near._ ” his face drops for a brief moment, his outstretched arm recoiling suddenly before being greeted by the other mans hand.

“Wednesday sounds good... Is uhh... something wrong?” He tilts his head to the side, the loose fitting hard hat almost slipping off, but revealing his stark blue hair all the same. If it weren’t for the fact this CEO was wearing a construction outfit, Marko might’ve thought it was someone else. Marko smiles again, convincingly may I add, and shrugs it off.

“Shoulder pain. Too much rolling of the dice I guess, hehehe..” he rubs the back of his head with his eyes closed, remembering the schedule he looked at a brief moment ago. _7:30: Second Trial_. He looks as the sun rises higher and higher into the sky, knowing he’s got to be places and people to be with. He looks as police fly past him, sirens blaring and trails blazing as a building collapses behind him. The two men crane their necks behind them in silence, watching the building burn and crumble to stacks of dust shooting down the streets. News choppers and police vans scream past, trying to get a closer look at The Thorn collapsing the Energo building. He wipes the sweat off his brow, and opens his mouth to say something when the other man’s phone blips as he is notified. He takes it out, an series of images flashing across the screen, causing the man to erupt into a wide smile.

“Here, take a look at this shit.” The man says while holding his phone between them both. It’s a news report, a replayed feed of Marko Black before taking out a hostage, blurry and way too bright, but a video of him all the same. Marko keeps his cool, continuing to walk with the man as he watches the video. Suddenly the man seems almost angry at the video, as if someone had just pricked his torso with a needle.

“Can you believe this guy?” The man says as if offended. Marko is a tad bit sad, but answers the question anyway.

“What do you mean?” He replies, a bit of solemn in his voice as he knows he won’t be going gambling anytime soon.

“The guy who shot this. It’s in a helicopter obviously, but why would they go to the Thorn during a meeting? Fucking idiots. Knew someone was gonna get hurt.” The man forcibly shoved his phone back into his pocket, and is visibly upset not at Marko, but the police. “Pack of retards, all of them. If they wanted to get him, they should just shoot him. No need for this confrontation bullshit. Or just blow him the fuck up. So much easier. Don’t you agree?” The man looks at Marko, who is struck by an intense disdain. Maybe his gamble payed off after all.

“Entirely. But... don’t you think if they wanted him dead, he’d be dead? Sniper team could get him easy, massive window facing the rest of the city. Job done quick.” Marko ponders, oddly weirded out by plotting the best way he could be killed while not actually letting on how he could be killed.

“Bulletproof glass.” He says certainly. “Looks like they used something heavy to get that glass down. Maybe even a rocket, or a big cannon. Something explosive, I know that.” Marko isn’t surprised at how he knew about bulletproof glass. Evidence everywhere. And the other man seems to work on a construction site. He decides to play along anyway, having an estranged yet interesting conversation.

“Why not a S.W.A.T team? Brute force, go through the tower, no structural damage. Why the need for surprise?” Marko begins to ask these questions legitimately, although he knows the answers, he is still intrigued at how the man will answer. He waits as the man thinks and they both walk down the street, no signs of the chaos settling.

“Because that’s exactly what he’d expect right? A S.W.A.T team, that is. Gotta try and catch ‘em off guard, the sneaky devil.” Marko chuckles, as does the other man. They both stop once more in the street, Marko thinking intensely on whether he should stay here, or hurry up to Second Trial. He tosses up the pros and cons before finally exasperating:

“Well, that’s for sure. But he’ll probably be ready for it.” Marko hurriedly checks his watch again. _7:13_. He thinks to himself for a second or two.  
“To hell with it, I don’t need to work today, that’s for sure. Not like the building I was in got destroyed or anything.” The other man only realises the soot and dust spread throughout Markos outfit, face, and hair. And his back. The other man almost giggles at the injuries before trying to take them seriously.

“You uh.. you got some holes in you there bud. You should probably get that checked out... holy shit. That a lotta holes. You should get an ambulance or something.” As soon as the last letter is said, an immediate drowsiness hits Marko, feeling his back only to be greeted by a conjured red mess of blood and suit. He stumbles a bit before the man catches him. He begins slurring his words and realise he’s losing blood very quickly, and has been for the entirety of his conversation. His stomach churns and his vision goes fuzzy, he gets weaker and weaker before he is reduced to his knees on the concrete. The man tries to help him up, but to no avail. 

“I’ll be fine.. just... I dunno.. turn around...” Marko says towards the man, who starts backing away slowly, afraid to kill him with a poke. Marko lurches over and coughs up a crimson soup that doesn’t appear particularly appetising nor edible. He pulls what seems to be a playing card out of his pocket and throws it into the air. It goes spinning off as it streaks down the road, seemingly shattering as it hits a nearby wall. Slowly, he pulls himself together again, a shabby thumbs up and a shitty grin gives his body everything it needs. Quickly and effectively, he rejects the symptoms and starts to function normally again. His breathing slows, his blood seems to clot and scab and somewhat heal while, most of all, he’s already walking perfectly fine again. Without the occasional sputter everything would appear as if nothing ever happened. The other man is silenced and stunned before his eyes open wide. He recognises his face. Marko looks at the man. The man looks at Marko. Then as if everything has been right in front of their faces, they both open their eyes in terror at one another. Marko bolts away into the streets and alleyways, dodging and weaving no one, as the other man turns and high tails the other direction. The CEO runs with a new spring in his step down the street. He shoves past people, and looks behind him to see if Marko is chasing. The man slams his right leg into a mailbox, where the sound of metal on metal clangs. The pair take off in opposite directions, both wondering if the other is chasing, and both wondering if they’ll see each other again. Through and through, he continues running, down street corners and across intersections, he runs until he can barely breathe, but by then he’s already caught his breath and is back up to running. Finally, the man stops running after realising there was never a chase, slowing to a walk, exhausted, just passing the Empire State Building. People passing beside him turn towards his direction as they hear the sound of scraping metal, watching him limp away practically dragging his shattered leg, and get through his head what actually happened.

“That was... Marko Black. _The_ Marko Black... holy shit, He was right there... So stupid...” he breathes in heavily as he catches his breath, reaching a bus stop to sit down on.  
“Right.. time to see what that mailbox did to my god damn leg.” He looks down, a mess of metal skewering his trousers, realising he’s created a trail of torn pants and bronze gears. He clenches his fists as soon as he realises a piston is missing, waiting for a passerby to think about hitting but not actually doing it. He also eyes a solid black fedora by his foot. Instantly recognisable. He’s deciding to hold onto it for now, maybe hold it as ransom. Everyone knows Marko for what he’s done, what he’ll do, and what hat he wears. It doesn’t suit him whatsoever, but he puts it on top of his yellow hard hat trying to pass it off as normal anyway. He begins waiting for a bus that can take him somewhere close to what he calls home, while Marko is still running in the opposite direction. He’s run into the rural districts, weaving in and out of the streets and alleyways, jumping over a few fences and is even briefly on a rooftop, before coming across a dead end street. There are a circle of shit-hole houses, Marko brings out a few key rings, each holding much more keys than they were designed for. He unlocks the door, the sound of wood cracking slightly greets him as he enters the house. Plaster roof, brick walls, no windows and only one door. Perfection. He collapses onto a surprisingly fancy couch for a house of this status, puffed out. He goes to take off his hat, but it isn’t there, and instead he instinctively grabbed his own hair. 

“Fuck! My hat!” He slams a fist down onto the arm of his couch, missing his hat already.  
“God damn it, more shit to add to the pile.” He sighs, realising it must’ve come off when he was running. Too much of a hurry to get away from the other man. He thinks back to what he might’ve said wrong, or what he might’ve said that was too right. Nothing comes to mind, yet he’s still got an itch lying in the deepest reaches of his mind.

“That was... Greyham. Greyham _Lawton_.. Holy shit, he should grow his hair out again.” He chuckles at this thought, that the lunatic he was speaking to had insane deep blue hair. Now that he thinks about it, he looks exactly like his file, minus the hair. And the construction worker outfit. He smirks and laughs lightly to himself once more.  
“An absolute Nutter... well, he seems like a bloody barrel of fun.” he checks his watch again, and insists he has a shower before leaving again. He needs to change out of his bloodsuit and wash off the dirt. He thinks while he’s in the shower, why they both ran away from each other. They were both terrible people. They both did something with what they had. They both had some great laughs, and even made plans. Yet they still ran away from each other. He ponders for a bit longer, before coming to an odd yet somewhat satisfying conclusion.

_Odd that when two people put on a mask, they are truly themselves, yet when that mask is taken away it doesn’t matter how alike you are, or all the good you have seen, or all the bad you have done together, you continue to gaze into the eyes of a monster._

With that he puts on a new suit, heading out to the Second Trial. He smirks, knowing he’ll see Greyham again. Wednesday perhaps.


End file.
